(no subject)
Well, so ends another Contest - pardon to those of you who blinked and missed it. The meeting at Arena is nearly over, I am home awaiting a plumber to deal with the master bathroom, and I am happy to announce the winner of the Yak is cecelle with what has to be the most ingenious and cleverly devised play ever.
"Zwei Huehner auf them Weg nach Vorgestern" (Two Chickens on the Way to Day Before Yesterday) - dangerous and vital modern German play by Alfons Yondrascheck, who has been rightfully called the master of irrational parasymbolism. It involves a naked mime, a bucket of paint, and, of course, three chickens.
While Cecelle assures this is not a real play, I'm betting that if someone at the meeting is willing to try to sell it, Molly just might bite. I would be highly amused if she did. Can't you see the write-up in the Style section? "It started as a joke, and then became a phenomenon...."
Anywho, Cecelle wins for herself a small porcelain yak, brought all the way back to the United States from Kyrgyzstan. The yak also doubles as a whistle. I thought I had a picture of him already uploaded, but sadly, all I have are donkeys. Anyway, in lieu of yak, I give you a picture of the head of a lamb, taken in Osh Market in Bishkek about six months ago:
Cecelle's yak is much cuter, and hopefully Cecelle will be much happier upon receiving her yak than this woman was with me taking her photograph.
Getting back to the joke at hand, Bill also convinced me to submit that Jihaad! The Musical thing he's been joking about since forever. A touching story of the rise and fall of one of Osama's minions, and how Al Quaida was corrupted from within. Can you imagine the showgirls?
In retrospect, it's probably a very good thing that I was unable to attend the All Staff meeting today. It was supposed to be a two-hour long thing in which we were all supposed to create our own seasons and then present them to Molly. The theory in the downstairs shop is that the folks who actually do decide on the seasons at Arena have gotten sick of us constantly complaining about what's chosen, so they're making us do it. Sort of like, "Fine, you try it!"
Now, normally I would think this is a very interesting exercise. (isewforsatan says it's only an exercise, and will have nothing to do with the upcoming season. I say that may be technically true, but it's still Molly picking our brains for interesting ideas, so you never really know.) The problem is that the entire production department, from costumes to sets to props, is incredibly busy trying to get ready for the next show. Noel and I are actually running behind sort of, as we're supposed to build five three-piece suits for two men in less than three weeks, and we only have one of the fabrics so far. (It takes about five days, start to finish, to build a three-piece suit.)
So this meeting couldn't have been planned for a worse time.
Not that it's a first for Arena. There was a production staff meeting a few weeks ago, for sets and costumes and props folks to attend, and it was arranged for a time when neither the costume shop nor the set shop could be there, as we were all working on other, prearranged things. Worse, the woman who planned it is our boss, and knew perfectly well what we were up to doing.
There comes a point when you sort of have to say, "Okay, fine. I can show up at the meeting, or you can have costumes/sets/props. Which would you like?"
Granted, I'm home for the afternoon waiting on a plumber. But (a) Noel and I don't have fabric, so we're limited on what we can do; (b) I brought home hand stitching that will keep me busy for a while; and (c) this is me. Honestly if I were my boss, and I had an employee with my attendance record in the last month or so, I'd probably fire me.
If I were at Arena still, I'd have taken said hand-stitching into the meeting with me. Apparently, this is frowned upon. Note my lack of breath-holding fear.
Says Reyna, one of the overhire stitchers, "You just want to go to be a bitch, anyway."
"True," says I. "That's half the fun of it."
And anyway, all it would have taken was one word from Molly about how my pretend season isn't "dangerous and vital" enough for her (as I would have stuffed it full of fluff and chickens and dancing burkas) and I probably would have told her out, right there in the theatre, and in front of the entire staff too.
And as gratifying as that would have been - and oh, wouldn't it have felt lovely! - it more or less would have ended my theatrical career.
Unless the rest of the place gave me a standing ovation, in which case, maybe the Board of Directors would have made me Artistic Director in her stead.
Damn. Maybe I should have given the plumber a miss after all!
"Zwei Huehner auf them Weg nach Vorgestern" (Two Chickens on the Way to Day Before Yesterday) - dangerous and vital modern German play by Alfons Yondrascheck, who has been rightfully called the master of irrational parasymbolism. It involves a naked mime, a bucket of paint, and, of course, three chickens.
While Cecelle assures this is not a real play, I'm betting that if someone at the meeting is willing to try to sell it, Molly just might bite. I would be highly amused if she did. Can't you see the write-up in the Style section? "It started as a joke, and then became a phenomenon...."
Anywho, Cecelle wins for herself a small porcelain yak, brought all the way back to the United States from Kyrgyzstan. The yak also doubles as a whistle. I thought I had a picture of him already uploaded, but sadly, all I have are donkeys. Anyway, in lieu of yak, I give you a picture of the head of a lamb, taken in Osh Market in Bishkek about six months ago:
Cecelle's yak is much cuter, and hopefully Cecelle will be much happier upon receiving her yak than this woman was with me taking her photograph.
Getting back to the joke at hand, Bill also convinced me to submit that Jihaad! The Musical thing he's been joking about since forever. A touching story of the rise and fall of one of Osama's minions, and how Al Quaida was corrupted from within. Can you imagine the showgirls?
In retrospect, it's probably a very good thing that I was unable to attend the All Staff meeting today. It was supposed to be a two-hour long thing in which we were all supposed to create our own seasons and then present them to Molly. The theory in the downstairs shop is that the folks who actually do decide on the seasons at Arena have gotten sick of us constantly complaining about what's chosen, so they're making us do it. Sort of like, "Fine, you try it!"
Now, normally I would think this is a very interesting exercise. (isewforsatan says it's only an exercise, and will have nothing to do with the upcoming season. I say that may be technically true, but it's still Molly picking our brains for interesting ideas, so you never really know.) The problem is that the entire production department, from costumes to sets to props, is incredibly busy trying to get ready for the next show. Noel and I are actually running behind sort of, as we're supposed to build five three-piece suits for two men in less than three weeks, and we only have one of the fabrics so far. (It takes about five days, start to finish, to build a three-piece suit.)
So this meeting couldn't have been planned for a worse time.
Not that it's a first for Arena. There was a production staff meeting a few weeks ago, for sets and costumes and props folks to attend, and it was arranged for a time when neither the costume shop nor the set shop could be there, as we were all working on other, prearranged things. Worse, the woman who planned it is our boss, and knew perfectly well what we were up to doing.
There comes a point when you sort of have to say, "Okay, fine. I can show up at the meeting, or you can have costumes/sets/props. Which would you like?"
Granted, I'm home for the afternoon waiting on a plumber. But (a) Noel and I don't have fabric, so we're limited on what we can do; (b) I brought home hand stitching that will keep me busy for a while; and (c) this is me. Honestly if I were my boss, and I had an employee with my attendance record in the last month or so, I'd probably fire me.
If I were at Arena still, I'd have taken said hand-stitching into the meeting with me. Apparently, this is frowned upon. Note my lack of breath-holding fear.
Says Reyna, one of the overhire stitchers, "You just want to go to be a bitch, anyway."
"True," says I. "That's half the fun of it."
And anyway, all it would have taken was one word from Molly about how my pretend season isn't "dangerous and vital" enough for her (as I would have stuffed it full of fluff and chickens and dancing burkas) and I probably would have told her out, right there in the theatre, and in front of the entire staff too.
And as gratifying as that would have been - and oh, wouldn't it have felt lovely! - it more or less would have ended my theatrical career.
Unless the rest of the place gave me a standing ovation, in which case, maybe the Board of Directors would have made me Artistic Director in her stead.
Damn. Maybe I should have given the plumber a miss after all!